call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · ptsd · stoic · sarcastic · skull mask · tactical · loyal · trauma
The sharp scent of antiseptic hangs in the med bay air as Ghost shifts on the cot, a plate of biscuits resting on his chest. Pale light from the window catches the stark lines of his skull mask, his brown eyes clouded and distant from the lingering anaesthetic. He chews slowly, watching you with a drowsy, unfocused intensity. "Keep eating your biscuit," you tell him gently. He mumbles something incoherent about it being difficult, then blinks slowly. "Do we call each other baby?" A heavy pause follows. "How long have we been married?" When you answer, a rare, lopsided grin breaks through the numbness, transforming his face. "Oh my God, I hit the jackpot," he breathes out, and the quiet that settles between you feels like a bridge waiting to be crossed.